Hardware Restoration and Rebuilding
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: AU: Felicity Smoak, Technical Advisor, #14. *There's nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. Felicity is trying, but it's harder than it looks.* A preview of what's in store for Season 3 in Technical Assistance, this time involving a few surprises and a whole lot of angst. Complete.
**Title: Hardware Rebuilding and Restoration
Word Count: 18,889**

 **Notes:** Consider this a huge apology for being so late with an update. Spring break has been surprisingly hectic—not in bad ways, per se, but just crazy. Yesterday I had zero time to update, and today has been the same, and then computer problems when I got home about two hours ago.

Also, this is the biggest one-shot I have ever posted.

Hopefully this will make up for it. I know you guys were begging for a follow-up to this piece in Bits and Pieces, and I finally finished it a few days ago.

As always, thank you so much for reading this. I'd love to hear from you if you have the chance, but I completely understand if you don't. As soon as I get a stable Internet connection, I'll be answering reviews, but right now I'm a little boggy because of update troubles. ;)

* * *

Two months. That's what it takes for her to come to the inevitable conclusion, one that she's been trying to deny for weeks now. Felicity has known it for a while, but two months is the breaking point for Felicity. Two months ago was when Oliver kissed her goodbye for the last time, charging to Nanda Parbat with a mission to save his sister from a fate she didn't even know faced her.

And now he's gone, and there's nothing she can do but sit in the lair and _know_. He's gone, and they'll never have any closure to it. Not really. There won't be a funeral, a body to put in a casket or lay to rest. Instead, his sister will never understand what happened—not fully; Felicity wouldn't betray Oliver like that, not after he spent so much time trying to protect her from the truth. The thought of him lying in the snow somewhere, in a place where they'll never find him, makes her want to fall apart, but she can't. Not now.

All she has left of Oliver now is a few pictures and his mission—his _legacy_ —as the Arrow. In his absence, somehow the team has turned to her, and finally Felicity understands what he said at his mother's funeral: _if I mourn her death, no one else gets to_. So she doesn't cry, she doesn't break down, she doesn't let the grief strangle her until it threatens to destroy her. Instead, Felicity Smoak somehow becomes the one they look to in Oliver's absence.

So, two months after his departure, only then does she accept what the world is telling her. Though it nearly breaks her, she stops long enough to buy a green storage container, carrying it down to the lair with her. And then, systematically, she starts packing away all the evidence that Oliver Queen was ever a part of this mission. Thea doesn't know yet—she's not sure when they'll tell her he's gone—but the least Felicity can do is pack away his things for her, when she's ready to take them.

It starts in the bathroom, with the pairs of sweatpants and gray t-shirts packed neatly in a cabinet near the shower. When she comes out to see the fern on the table, it nearly becomes her undoing, but Diggle's sudden presence is the reason she keeps it together. "I was trying to pack up Oliver's things," she informs him. Her voice is a little shaky, but God bless John Diggle; he doesn't say a word about it. "For Thea," she adds when he doesn't speak.

"Okay," is his simple answer, and then suddenly he's in the corner, opening up the Box of Island Things. Felicity starts to snarl at him, to remind him that _no one_ touches the Box except for Oliver when she remembers the truth again. This time, her armor cracks for a brief moment before she puts it back in place.

Trying to keep whatever is left of her sanity, Felicity turns back to the table, picking up the green-handled switchblade. Thea can have everything else, she decides as she tucks it into her pocket, but this one thing is hers. She wouldn't appreciate it, wouldn't understand how much of their story was written into a damn pocket knife. For the most part, Felicity doesn't want any keepsakes. The only thing Felicity ever wanted from Oliver was his heart, and she _still_ holds that, even after he was ripped away from her. Other than the photos and a few hoodies and t-shirts at her house, she plans on giving it all to the woman he died to save.

"Felicity?" Diggle's voice calls from across the room. She turns to him, noting the various things in his arm: a broken bow, a bottle of vodka she'd seen the two men share on a couple of occasions, and a various assortment of things she doesn't understand the meaning behind. He walks over to her, placing them all in the tub before turning to her with a grim expression that makes her shoulders tense. He extends a small, black velvet box that makes her stomach drop. The look on the soldier's face adds exactly what she fears, before he finally says, "I think this was meant for you." There's so much and so little in that sentence, telling her exactly what she fears to be the truth.

Felicity isn't an idiot; she knows she should store it away, should never look at it because it's only going to tear her apart. But she hates mysteries and the temptation is too great, so of course she opens it. The rings are gorgeous, of course; they probably cost him more than he's able to afford these days. The one on top isn't new, judging by the small scratches in the band that weren't removed after a thorough cleaning. The five teardrop diamonds across the silver band are too gaudy for her—or Oliver's taste—but she knows them from the pictures of Moira and Robert Queen, settled around her finger in an opulent display, under an even bigger wedding ring. Then she remembers Oliver saying something about it being a Queen family tradition to propose with that ring; three generations of the Queen family had come together because that ring had linked them.

Alone, that would have been enough to break her, enough to make her sob into the night. But the other two rings sitting underneath, new and elegant, are what destroy her until there's nothing left. The silver band on the first is thin and simple, widening to allow room for a large, oval emerald to sit, flanked on either side by two teardrop diamonds. It makes her heart clench; the double-meaning in that stone is not lost on her, reminding her that he gave her every facet of himself, even in this. But it's the third one that breaks her, the one that makes her choke.

It's plain and simple silver band, sized much too large for her fingers.

All the pain she's been swallowing hits her with a force more violent than any battering ram, making her choke back a sob, because she can _see it_ now. She can see the future he had meant for them to have, the one where they shared a home together, not just him living in her leased apartment. One where they spent their days attending board meetings as equals and their nights saving a city he loved enough to risk his life for. One where they attended galas as Mr. and Mrs. Queen, and, maybe, if they decided to, one that involved children with his quiet confidence or her babbling mouth. Either way, it was one that involved them growing old together. One that they can never have now.

Suddenly the armor is too heavy and she can't hold onto it anymore. When the tears start falling down her face, John takes the ring box from her hand and places it on the desk before pulling her into his arms. She latches onto him as though her life depends upon it, sobbing into his shoulder with all the agony and loss she's been fighting for so long.

He understands it without saying a word, letting her cry into his shoulder until she can't anymore, and Felicity knows they'll never talk about it again. He'll forgive her this one moment of weakness, and then he'll follow her plans into battle again without an ounce of hesitation. Because John Diggle understands loss just as much as she does in this moment. He understands what Felicity can't say—that she's not just crying for Oliver anymore. She lost so much more in this fight than she ever realized was possible; Ra's al Ghul not only stole the man she loved, but also their hope, their team, and the future Oliver was trying so hard to build. He even stole their safe haven; Felicity can't be in the lair anymore without being reminded that it was _Oliver_ that made the space so inviting.

And now, more than ever, Felicity thinks he might have stolen her life, too.

Diggle and she stay like that for what feels like hours, and she knows she's probably a mess when she pulls out of his arms. She can't face the team like this; they'll be too preoccupied with her sadness to focus on anything—and the city still needs saving. "I really need to be anywhere but here right now," she admits to him in a voice raspy with tears.

He pulls her in for one last hug. "Go home, Felicity," he insists, his voice just above her ear. "Get some rest. I'll make sure they don't go after anything too dangerous tonight." He hands her the ring box back, and this time she shoves it into her pocket without looking at it. Once was enough for tonight. "I'll pack the rest of this up tonight—Tommy will help me." He pulls away from her then, and Felicity whispers a quiet thank-you in return. He just nods and smiles, and the blonde can't find it in her to smile back at Digg.

There really aren't any smiles for her. Not anymore.

All she has to look forward to now is her very empty apartment—which reminds her that the lease is almost out. Part of her wants to find somewhere else to live because the space only reminds her of her losses, but at the same time, finding a new place would be severing ties that she isn't quite ready to cut just yet.

But that's another dilemma for a day that doesn't involve finding out that she was two steps away from her version of a happily ever after when everything went to hell. So she opens her door and drops the ring box on her bar to deal with later— _much_ later, when she can put it in the safe in her closet hidey-hole without being overcome with emotion. (So probably never.) Then she kicks off her shoes, throws her clothes around the apartment as she gets out of them, and lies down on the bed with Saphira snuggled between her arms, trying to pretend the world is normal for at least one more moment.

Unfortunately, though, karma has decided to toy with her life once more out of spite—even though, in Felicity's opinion, karma owes her so many points she can't keep track—so it isn't that simple. Halfway into her night of dreamless, restless sleep, she gets a call from Barry. And, of course, the news he gives her shatters her world again one more time. But at least this time it isn't in a bad way. Not really—at least not for her.

This time, though, she can do something about it.

* * *

It's after three in the morning by the time she arrives in Central City, but Felicity is the opposite of tired as she walks into the police station. The usual day-shift guys aren't there, and the place looks a little more ominous at night, but then she meets Barry's eyes across the room. She probably looks like shit after crying jag earlier, with no mascara, swollen eyes with red rims, and no doubt dark circles proclaiming her sleep-deprivation. Another time, it would have bothered her. But right now, Felicity doesn't have it in her to give a damn.

When Barry reaches her, he hugs her because he can probably sense she needs it. "No offense," he mutters into her hair, "but I was kind of expecting Oliver to be here for this one. I only called you because he wasn't answering his phone." He pulls back, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry to drag you into the middle of this." He swallows. "It has to be more than a little uncomfortable."

Only then does she realize that she hasn't told Barry any of the drama going on in the last two months, that he doesn't know about Oliver's sudden departure—in more ways than one. "Oliver left two months ago to fight the head of the League of Assassins," she blurts, and Barry's eyes shoot up in a familiar how-is-this-your-life expression. "It's a long story, but the short version is that he did it to protect Thea." Then she chokes on her next sentence before finally spitting it out. "We haven't heard from him since—I think it's time to give up _hope_." She dry-sobs on the word because she's giving up _so much more_ than something as fickle as hope.

Barry tries to hug her again, but she won't let him; if he does, it will be her undoing and she's already met her quota of crying jags for the year. "I'm so sorry, Felicity," he whispers to her, squeezing her hand. "I shouldn't have hit you with this today. It was too much."

When she laughs, there's no humor in it. Felicity can say this was _easily_ the least emotional thing she's dealt with in the last twenty-four hours. Suddenly she feels the need to share everything with her best friend because she can't break down in front of Tommy, Sara, Thea, or Roy—or worse, Laurel, who does not need to hear the story of her philandering ex finally attempting to pop the question to someone, instead of hopping on a boat with another woman to avoid a very minor display of commitment.

Unfortunately for Barry, he's all she has right now. "I was packing up Oliver's things in the lair when I found the Queen family engagement ring and a set of wedding bands," Felicity informs him in a sad, defeated tone, watching as the implications of that wash over his face. "Proof of the man he was eight years ago is not going to be the thing to break me tonight."

Felicity is fairly certain he didn't look this heartbroken when he told her Iris had started dating one of the cops he works with. Honestly, she doesn't know how; there's nothing more hearbreaking than watching the person that you love fall in love with someone else. Despite everything, at least she knows that the only reason Oliver isn't waiting for her in Starling City is because of forces outside of their control.

This time, she does let him hug her. He doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to, and she appreciates that Barry Allen isn't trying to make this any harder than it already is. "We can do this in the morning, if you want," he offers as he pulls away. "You know I always have space for you in my guest room."

"Thanks," she answers tiredly, "but I'd rather just do this tonight. I'd like to meet Connor before I just force my company on him. I don't want to see him go into foster care, but I'm not going to make him come back to Starling with me if he hates me."

The lift at the corner of Barry's mouth confuses her. "I'm pretty sure that no one has ever hated you," he admits slowly. "Especially not a Queen."

"I can think of a few people," Felicity corrects. "I'm pretty sure that Malcolm Merlyn would like to use me for target practice." She shrugs to punctuate that thought. "But he can go to Hell and take a toothbrush as far as I'm concerned. Slade Wilson is probably cursing my name from a secret ARGUS prison on Lian Yu right now. And don't forget William Tockman—he's still pissed that I outsmarted him." She tilts her head to the side. "Oh, and Suzie Jordan in the second grade." She points at him. "And as far as the Queens go, you forgot about Moira. She was probably rolling over in her grave at the idea of her son using her engagement ring to propose to me."

Saying the words aloud gives them new life, and despite the chuckle Barry offers that is totally worth it, Felicity decides she didn't want that particular truth to exist at all. She pats him on the shoulder before walking toward Joe, where he sits with a kid too young to be going through all of this pain and agony. At first all she can recognize is brown hair since he's turned away from her, but the sound of her heels clicking on the tile finally draws his attention. When he turns to her, it takes everything she has not to stop in her tracks because her first thought is, _How the hell did no one realize this was Oliver Queen's son?_

All it takes is one look, and it hits her too violently for any metaphor she knows. Granted Felicity didn't know Sandra Hawke, but she thinks most of Connor's features are purely Oliver. Those blue eyes are a perfect match for his, especially filled with all of that pain and sadness. And the shape of his face and the line of his jaw, even full with the softness of childhood, are impossible not to recognize. The full cheeks have to be Sandra's genetic influence, and maybe the set of his mouth, but the rest of him is purely Oliver.

And it's both the most beautiful and most cruel thing she's ever seen: beautiful because it reminds her of Oliver, but cruel because it also reminds her of all she's lost—and of things she never even realized she wanted. Because she's suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of what children would look like with a mix of both her features and Oliver's, and suddenly she wants that possibility to exist with every fiber of her being. Felicity has never really been a kid person, but then again, people usually want what they know they can't ever have.

The door to that possibility is firmly shut now.

Slowly, Felicity drops into one of the chairs next to Joe. "Thanks for coming, Felicity," he says to her, looking just as tired as she feels. God knows he's been through this before; they wouldn't let him keep Barry, but not for lack of trying. He pats her shoulder as she throws him a weary smile. "I'll let you two get acquainted."

Staring at Connor now, she's reminded of how tongue-tied she was when she met Oliver, back before she knew he was the Arrow or anything about him. She feels much the same way now, but this time, Felicity knows she has to be the one to speak first. "Hey," she says in a soft voice, "I'm Felicity Smoak."

"I'm Connor Hawke," he answers in a quiet voice, barely looking at her. "I guess you're here to take me to a foster home or something?" Only then does he look at her. "I don't have any other family."

That's such a loaded statement that Felicity isn't sure how to answer it. While it's mostly true, she reminds herself that Thea is his aunt—an altogether terrifying thought. Thea would have no idea how to respond to this, let alone raise a heartbroken kid. Quite honestly, Felicity isn't sure how to do it, either. "Not exactly," Felicity answers as truthfully as she can. It must be the right answer because Connor slowly exhales in a sigh of relief that is just as much Oliver as his eyes. "I came because I…" She has no idea how to tell him that his father never knew he was alive—of that much she's certain—and that she was kind of his father's girlfriend. "I was a friend of your father's. And I grew up in foster care, so I remember how bad it was. I didn't want that for you."

The doubt is etched all over his face, yet another expression she's seen on Oliver's face so many times— _exactly_ like that. Maybe she shouldn't think about doing this because it's probably going to kill her. At the very least, it's just going to remind her of losing Oliver over and over again. That alone could mean the end of her sanity. "I don't have a father," Connor states defiantly, crossing his arms.

When Felicity crosses her arms to mirror his stance, it's purely out of habit, until she realizes that she's about to start arguing with an eight-year-old the same way she argued with the Starling City Vigilante. Not exactly a good start to their relationship. "Everyone has a father," she tries instead, trying to think how to delicately explain this to a child. "My dad left me and my mom when I was six. He's not my dad—not really—but I still have one. And so do you. But my dad _chose_ to leave me. I can tell you that yours didn't know you were born." She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself together. "He… he died two months ago, and I know you don't have anyone else. So, if you want, you can come with me back to Starling City."

He looks at her dubiously, and she blurts, "I'm going to be completely honest with you, Connor. My life is a wreck. I'm an emotional mess right now, and I probably shouldn't even be taking care of my dog, much less trying to take care of someone who just lost the only family he ever knew. But I want to." She takes a breath. "And while Oliver is a part of that reason, he's not _all_ of it. Your dad didn't have a very good relationship with his blood family, so he kind of made one of his own. _We_ were a family, and we take care of each other. I'm not sure if I can take care of you or not, but I'm willing to try if you are." Then she folds her hands on her lap. "If you don't want to go with me, I'm not going to make you, but no matter what, I'm going to be there if you need me."

"Because you feel like you owe my dad?" Connor asks, the question surprisingly wise coming from the mouth of an eight-year-old.

Felicity shakes her head. "No," she answers flatly. "I didn't owe him anything—just like you don't owe me anything because I knew your dad. Oliver and I, we…" _Were partners_ , flits through her mind, but something tells her he won't understand the significance of that. "We helped each other because we _wanted_ to, not because we _had_ to." Knowing that even if he's _half_ Oliver he'll want to think about this first, she reaches over to pat his shoulder. "If you say yes and decide that this isn't working, I'll help you find somewhere else. But I'll give you some time to think about it." Then she picks up a business card from Joe's desk, writing her name and number on the back of it before offering it to him. "But, no matter what you decide, Connor, if you ever need me for anything, all you have to do is call." With that, she turns toward the hallway to leave.

She makes it about five steps before a small voice calls out to her, "Felicity, wait." Connor tugs on the sleeve of her peacoat, the card still in his other hand. He looks as though he's making a decision, his mouth set into a firm, grim line that screams Oliver in so many ways. "I have a few rules," he states, crossing his arms as he says so.

Her mouth turns up of its own accord, in the first real smile of two months. "You wouldn't be Oliver's son if you didn't," she admits truthfully. He looks surprised by the declaration, as though he couldn't possibly imagine having anything in common with the man. "Tell me what they are, and I'll see if I can agree to them."

Connor starts ticking them off on his fingers. "I don't want you to try and be my mom," he declares. "My mom is gone, but I don't want to replace her." Another finger goes up. "I get to ask questions about my dad. I know you're sad that he's dead, but I want to know about him." His ring finger goes up next. "I get to watch all the TV I want and you don't try to make me do my homework. You won't try to make me eat brussel sprouts or give me toys to make me like you. You won't lie to me, and I promise not to lie to you, too." He focuses with a serious expression, and Felicity can't bite back the smile that follows. "If you're okay with that, I'll come with you to Starling City." Then he does the damnedest thing, something that makes her heart hurt and feel like it's being patched together at the same time: he sticks out his hand for her to shake.

Felicity doesn't even hesitate to shake it. "You have yourself a deal, Mr. Hawke."

* * *

Connor studies the apartment with wide eyes as he walks in, carrying one of his bags. Felicity carries a couple of the others, standing behind him and watching him survey the place. He notices the computer parts first, of course, but they talked on the train and he already knows about her love of technology. Instead, he stares in wonder at her collection of movies and TV shows, content to let his bag drop at his side.

"I'm going to carry your bags into your room," Felicity says to him, knowing he probably needs some time to get the lay of the place. "And I'm going to let Saphira out, too, but I'll let you meet her before I turn her loose on you." She goes into the room, swapping the bag for the little dog and carrying her back out to the main room.

When she arrives, she stops short as she finds Connor studying the row of pictures in one of the shelves of the bookcase. She'd forgotten about them, mainly because it's been impossible to look at them without turning into a sobbing heap in the past two months. He's pulled one of them down from the shelf—the one of her in the middle of Digg, Barry, Oliver, Roy, and Tommy that was taken at their holiday get-together just before Oliver left. She remembers too much wine and loudly demanding photos, but it had turned out well.

"Those are my boys," Felicity tells him, and Connor jumps as though he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Fortunately, though, he doesn't drop the picture. Ignoring Saphira as she curiously sniffs the air, Felicity moves to stand behind him, pointing to each person in the photo in turn. "You'll meet most of them later. You already know that's Barry—he's my best friend. We grew up together. And that's Roy—he grew up with us, too. That's John Diggle in the back—he's like the brother I never had. We usually call him Diggle or Digg. This one is Tommy—he's practically family, too. He's been Oliver's best friend through all of time." She points to the last one with a shaking finger. "And this is Oliver."

Connor studies his father through the photo for a long moment. "Do you think I look like him?" he asks suddenly. She knows what he's searching for; he's trying to find some part of this man he never knew to latch onto, to discover within himself as some sort of compensation for what he's lost.

Though she tries not to, Felicity laughs at that, causing Connor to turn and stare at her. Because the truth might scare him a little—that he's practically a mini-Oliver in so many ways—she settles on, "Your eyes are exactly the same. And a lot of the expressions you make are the same." She studies him for a moment, not sure what he thinks about that. "There's a lot of you that must be your mom, but there's a lot of Oliver in you, too."

He seems at a loss for words, but Felicity won't force him to dwell on that right now. Instead she pulls Saphira away from her chest. "This is Saphira. She's small and typically very nice." She places the little dog on the ground, who sniffs Connor with a wagging tail before licking his hand. Connor laughs at that, reaching down to pet her, obviously deciding that he likes her. He places the picture back on the shelf so that he can pet her with both hands, and for a moment, Felicity thinks she can do this.

Slowly his expression fades, though, and Felicity knows that look from Oliver. And it's not a good look—ever. "Felicity," he says slowly, and, God, he even draws out his name like Oliver used to. Then he points to the counter and her stomach drops at the little black velvet box on her bar. She'd forgotten about that in her hurry to get to Central City. "What's that?" Connor asks her with the level of innocence only a child can manage. Before she can devise an answer, he walks over to it, opening the box and failing to understand the significance of what he just opened. "You have pretty rings," he tells her in a polite voice as he closes the lid and places them back exactly as he found them. "You should wear them."

Felicity isn't ready to talk about this—and if she was, it wouldn't be with Connor. "Thank you," she answers quietly, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent the tears from falling. "But I don't think I'm ready to wear them just yet, Connor."

The look he throws her is far too understanding for an eight-year old, but he doesn't ask more. Instead, he points over to the Robin Hood poster over her wall, switching topics the way only a child can. "He kind of looks like the Arrow," he informs her with a level of innocence that actually hurts. Then he continues with a nod of his head and a very serious expression, "Mom thought the Arrow was scary, but he stops bad guys in Starling City. Like the Flash does in Central City." Something in his expression clicks, and then he checks the back of the card she gave him—the one in his pocket—and then reaches into his backpack for a binder.

At first she doesn't know what it holds, but as he goes through the newspaper clippings, Felicity makes a strangled sound. She _knows_ those articles—she has them plastered all over one of the walls in the lair as a reminder of the _good_ they do in the city. Finally he flips to the page he's looking for, and her stomach drops as she reads the title upside down: "Arrow Stops Drug Pusher, Saves Hostage."

Connor points a pudgy finger at the name of the hostage—not that Felicity needs to be reminded of that. "That's you," he decides, a curious look on his face. "The Arrow saved you from a bad guy." In that moment, she hears what he isn't saying, and damn it if Connor hasn't gotten that from his father, too. Oliver always could say a whole hell of a lot with just a few words. "He always puts them in jail," he adds for good measure, "but not this time." He steps forward, toward her. "Do you know the Arrow?" he finally asks her, though the question has been in the subtext the entire time.

She swore she wasn't going to lie to the kid, and she's not going to start now. But she also doesn't want to tell him that one of his heroes is dead. She might be in misery, but that doesn't make her cruel. "That's a complicated question," she answers finally. Then she studies him for a long moment. "I bet you have secrets—things that you don't want to tell me right now. We barely know each other. I have secrets, too, and some of them hurt." She points to the police sketch that accompanies the article. "This one hurts." He nods in a way too understanding for an eight-year-old, but at the moment she's glad of it.

Then he tucks the binder back in his backpack and changes the subject with a wide, toothy smile devoid of two front teeth. "I like your dog."

* * *

It's the middle of the day when the doorbell rings, and Felicity can say she's had the night from Hell as she goes to answer it. Even now, she has a sleeping eight-year-old over her hip, heavy and awkward but finally settled. It was after six when he finally settled in enough to fall asleep, and then it was eight when he shook her awake. He'd been teary-eyed, having nightmares about his mother's car accident. He couldn't sleep, so they watched one of her many cartoon collections until he had crawled over on her lap, only to fall asleep there.

She'd gone into a peaceful sleep just a few moments later, waking up with a pain in her hip and her collarbone. And, because she needed to tell the team about their newest development, she'd called a team meeting. They might not be the same team they were, but they deserve to know about this. Digg would be furious if she didn't tell him, and Laurel deserves to know about this, because, at the time, _she_ was the one mourning Oliver's departure from her life—while another woman was having his child.

She's two steps from the door when she remembers that damn ring box like a weight on her counter. With a frustrated huff, she grabs it, sticking it behind the picture of her and Oliver in the foundry. It's a ridiculous picture that Roy snapped candidly one night, with Felicity in her chair in front of her computers and Oliver standing behind her, looking down at her as she looks up at him. She can't help but smile even now as she looks at it—they look like they're in their own little world, and that look of pure adoration on Oliver's face makes her heart hurt in the most wonderful way possible, even now. It hits her like a new wave: she loves him, she will _always_ love him, and he's gone.

And he's not coming back.

Because it's not the time or the place, Felicity instead moves to the door, finding herself face-to-face with John Diggle. There's a cut over his forehead that wasn't stitched properly, but he's in one piece, staring at the sleeping kid over her hip with a question in his eyes. "Come in," she says quietly, motioning to the couch. "Try not to wake him, though—it's been a rough night."

He files in, and slowly Roy, Tommy, and Laurel file in behind him. Laurel is the only one who stops to look at Connor's face. "He's a cutie," she says in a warm tone, not asking any questions. Laurel is the only one who typically doesn't, and Felicity has never been more grateful for that than now.

"You may change your mind about that in a minute," Felicity warns her honestly. God knows that it's going to make all the pain from Oliver's infidelity in that relationship so much worse. Before Laurel can ask, the blonde settles back into one of the armchairs, watching as Saphira curls herself at her feet. She hasn't left Connor since they met, and Felicity wonders if the little dog knows just how special the boy is.

"What's with the kid, Smoaky?" Tommy is the first to ask, motioning toward the person in question. "I didn't think you liked kids." He chuckles. "Did you decide that you wanted to raise more than a dog? Because I'm not sure the same rules apply."

She levels a look at him, and his smile fades almost immediately. "I got a call from Barry last night," Felicity starts slowly, wondering how the hell she's going to break this to him. "There was a car accident—drunk driver took out a car with a single mom." Several sets of eyes narrow, probably wondering what this has to do with them. "Her name was Sandra Hawke—she died instantaneously. Joe got the call, and the first thing he tried to do was find a place for her son, Connor, to go." She can't help but pull him further into her at the mention of the name. "There wasn't a father's name on the birth certificate and she didn't have any other living relatives, so he had Barry a DNA sample through the system to look into the father's side of the family. They got a match." Felicity stops because she can't do this anymore, but she doesn't really have a choice. Finally she chokes on the name: "Oliver."

The air leaves the room at once, and Laurel looks turns pale in a way that makes Felicity hurt. This isn't her favorite revelation, either, but at least she knows that Oliver would never have even thought of cheating on her. Laurel doesn't have that luxury. "You're sure?" she asks quietly. Tommy threads his fingers through hers almost immediately, in a show of solidarity that would make the blonde smile in another life. Right now, she can't bring herself to force one out.

The laugh that leaves Felicity has no humor in it. "There's no question about it, Laurel," she assures her. "Barry ran the sample twice before he called me." She hesitates, staring down at the boy in her lap, at the way his hand has curled around the collar of her pajama top in sleep like he's clinging to a lifeline. "Not to mention that Connor looks _just_ like him."

Diggle is the first one to accept it, studying the kid with a new kind of appraisal. "He looks a little like him," he agrees finally, "in the right light." His lips press together into a thin line. "He didn't talk to me about this, but he wouldn't have." His eyes flick up to Felicity. "But he would tell _you_. Did Oliver know he had a son?"

"He never did," the blonde says finally. "But I don't think he knew." Slowly she goes through the theory she's been working on all night—and most of the day. "I saw a picture of Sandra—we ran into her in Central City, and she and Oliver were…" She fishes for the right word. "Weird. He said something to her about not keeping in touch after their loss."

Shaking her head, Felicity continues, "He wouldn't say much about it, but I think he knew she had been pregnant, but I don't think he realized she gave birth to his child." She points to Diggle with her left hand. "Do you remember when I was going through Moira's trash when she ran for mayor?" He nods once, and she addresses the rest of the group. "That's when I found out she paid off the doctor that delivered Thea, and I connected the dots." Tommy just shakes his head sadly, but the group stays quiet. "I found something else suspicious," she continues. "There was a check written out for one million dollars cash—signed by Moira. It wouldn't have been long after Connor was conceived."

"I can't believe that _Moira_ would—" Laurel starts, but Felicity doesn't let that thought continue.

"Would what?" Felicity cuts in, tired in so many new ways that she really doesn't care anymore. "Pay off a pregnant mother to protect Oliver from a scandal? Would make her tell him she lost the baby for that money?" She starts to cross her arms, but she can't with Connor there, so she settles on draping her arms around him. "Because I remember the woman who tried to pay me off when I confronted her about Thea, and who threatened my life when I told Oliver about it. God help me for saying this about a dead woman, but she was Maleficent with maternal instincts. And she _absolutely_ would have paid off Sandra Hawke because Oliver was a drunken asshole through most of his pre-island years, and I honestly still haven't figured out how you put up with him for a long-term relationship. I would have taken one look at that and ran the other way—and _nothing_ could have convinced me to stay for what he put you through."

Laurel looks kind of torn between emotions at that, but Tommy levels a look at her, the familiar Felicity-I-love-you-but-please-stop-talking look. She cringes—of all the times for her mouth to run away from her. "But that's not the point," she blurts a little loudly. "The point is that Connor has nowhere else to go and he's agreed to stay with me instead of being dropped into the system." She looks at Roy. "Like we were. He knows that Oliver is his dad, but that's all I've told him." Then she turns to Diggle as a previous thought occurs to her. "And he doesn't just look like Oliver in the right light—the resemblance is kind of surreal at times."

He stirs in her arms, and then suddenly two very blue eyes pull open as he stares at her. "Felicity?" he murmurs in a quiet tone.

"Hey, Connor," she answers, trying to muster some cheer in her own voice. She mostly fails, but he doesn't seem to care. They're both a little broken, but neither one really seems to mind. "I have some friends here who I think you'll want to meet." He rubs his eyes a little, blinking several times, and she adds, "If you feel like it. If you don't, we can always do it another time."

He sits up, staring at all of them in turn, eyes widening a little as he recognizes all of them from the photos on her bookshelf. Roy, on the other hand, doesn't wait for him to speak or adjust, turning to Felicity with a little concern across his face. "You sure you want to do this, Blondie?" he asks her, not seeming to care that Connor is _right there_. "Because you kind of suck with kids, and something tells me he's not going to be easy to handle."

Felicity opens her mouth to tear into him, but Connor is faster. "You're rude," he declares with narrowed eyes, fixing on Roy with an expression that Felicity _definitely_ remembers. It's not Roy's first rodeo being hit with that one, either. "I don't think I like you," he decides after a moment.

Roy snorts, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering look before turning toward Laurel. " _Now_ do you believe he's Oliver's kid?" he asks her around Tommy.

Trying to distract Connor from the statement, Felicity assures him, "Give him some time. Roy kind of grows on you. Like a fungus." It earns her a soft smile for her trouble—and an indignant huff from Roy—but she turns back to the rest of the group. "This is—" She attempts to point at each, but Connor apparently isn't interested in that.

He crawls out of her lap, going straight over to Digg, which Felicity thinks shows that the kid is an excellent judge of character. Saphira's head lifts from her paws as he does, swiveling to watch him. "You're Diggle," he decides after a moment. Then, as if it clarifies everything, he adds, "You're one of Felicity's boys." The corner of Diggle's mouth turns up after a moment as his eyes flick over to her, and Connor suddenly looks a little self-conscious.

Then he goes over to the bookshelf, looking at the picture and asking her for permission. Felicity nods once. He takes off the shelf, bringing it back to John with a satisfied look. "That's what Felicity said," he adds for good measure. "She said these are her boys."

"I think that's probably true," Diggle agrees after a moment. "She's good at getting us out of trouble and keeping us that way." It's meant to be a compliment, Felicity knows, but it feels like he's just twisted the knife in her chest. Usually, she _does_ keep her boys safe in the field, but right now she is feeling the loss of the one she couldn't keep out of trouble. But Diggle turns back to her before saying conspiratorially to Connor, "And she'll be good at keeping you out of trouble, too."

Connor thinks about that for a moment, looking understandably skeptical. "Felicity is nice and she has good cartoons," he allows after a moment. Probably not the best glowing recommendation Felicity has ever received, but it's only been a few hours since they met, so she takes it for a win.

Tommy groans at that statement. "You've been mothering me for the past two years, and now that you have an actual kid, you're not going to take advantage of that?" he asks her with a playful grin, trying to ease the tension out of the room.

She rolls her eyes. "Connor doesn't need me to lead him by the hand, Merlyn," she retorts. "I can't say the same for you." Felicity tilts her head to the side with part of a smile. Tommy is generally the only one to make her smile these days; she's not generally as quick with a grin anymore. "Every once in a while, you need someone to tell you when you're being an idiot, and Laurel is too nice to point it out to you."

Connor stares back and forth between them, watching them go back and forth as if he's watching a tennis match. Then he decides to study Tommy with wide eyes, walking toward his place on the couch. Felicity can see the moment it dawns on the quick-witted billionaire, when he realizes that this is _definitely_ Oliver's son standing in front of him.

Oblivious to the sudden wave of emotions that falls over Tommy's face, Connor says slowly, "You're one of her boys, too. Your name is Tommy, and you're Oliver's best friend."

The sadness washes over Merlyn so fast that Felicity feels sorry for him. Sometimes she thinks he's taken Oliver's departure from their lives harder than she has. "Actually," she calls to Connor slowly, "he belongs to Laurel first. She's his girlfriend. I just keep him out of trouble."

A very long-term girlfriend, and now more than ever, Felicity makes a mental note to tell Tommy to pull his head out of his ass and just propose already. Tommy and Laurel were a thing long before Felicity and Oliver ever took that leap, and they're completely ready for more serious commitment. Not to mention that, with Laurel's work as the Black Canary, she doesn't want Tommy to be in the same situation Felicity finds herself in now: in possession of a ring box and a future that will never come.

Because, while it would have hurt to lose Oliver as her husband, at least there wouldn't be any unfinished business hanging in the air.

The statement draws Connor's attention to Laurel, studying her for a long moment, before his eyes go to her hands. "You wear pretty rings, too," he notes aloud, and Felicity gets the feeling that a shoe is about to drop. It does. "Felicity has rings, but she doesn't wear them. They have bigger stones and she keeps them in a box."

The blonde can practically feel the color drain out of her face at the casual statement, and it reminds her that they need to have a conversation about boundaries _very_ soon. Diggle is the only one who seems to understand, and he keeps his expression neutral. Felicity kind of loves him for that, for knowing that this is _so_ not something she wants to talk about—definitely not now, and she thinks 'never' seems like a good time to discuss this.

"Maybe we should all get lunch or something," the blonde suggests suddenly, hoping to change the subject, "so you can all get to know one another." She catches the look on Connor's face, so she adds, "I mean sometime next weekend. We've been through a lot in the last few hours." God knows he has a lot to adjust to, and she's not going to overwhelm him right now. "I just wanted you to meet each other."

Diggle takes the hint, as always, rising from his seat. "I should probably go home—Lyla is going to be in the field for a few days, and I'm spending the day with Hope." The mention of his daughter's name pulls a smile to his lips. "It was nice meeting you, Connor." When Felicity rises to show him to the door, he stops to put a hand on her upper arm. "If you need anything—"

"You're only a phone call away," she finishes for him. "I know, John. Thank you."

* * *

He's been with her all of two weeks when the first unavoidable crisis pops up. Since Connor moved in, she doesn't have the luxury of spending her nights and early mornings in the lair while leaving him at home, and she remembers Oliver's reaction to Diggle dragging his daughter down there. It may be silly—Oliver has been gone for two and a half months now—but she doesn't want to break his rules. It's her way of holding onto him, however she can, and she can't let go.

That Danny Brickwell has been causing trouble in the Glades again isn't even a surprise. Ever since the police pulled out of the Glades last week, it's been all of Team Arrow's hands on deck to restore what they can of the situation. Thus far, they've been making gradual steps in the right direction, but when she has to put over a hundred stitches in Roy's leg in her living room one night, she knows she can't avoid it any longer.

Tommy might be doing an amazing job on comms, but the team needs her to navigate satellites from her Cobalt-encrypted computers, not the high-powered laptop that just doesn't compare to the setup in the lair. But Felicity's breaking point comes when Sara—arguably the best fighter among them—takes a bullet to the shoulder that could have been prevented if someone had been watching the satellite feed.

And that's when she understands. They're already doing this with a hole in the team—one shaped suspiciously like a green-hooded archer. Even though she has added other responsibilities by taking on Connor, her team needs her. Which is why, when Roy calls her that Friday night (against protests from practically everyone in the background), she assures him she's coming in. After assuring all of them in turn that she won't change her mind and that she can get to Verdant safely, Felicity quietly grabs her purse and keys, pulls on her coat, and knocks on the door to the guest bedroom that Connor is occupying.

"Hey," she calls to him in a soft tone. He's already sitting up, rubbing at his eyes as if trying to focus. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have to do something right now." He looks at her blankly, his face falling. Felicity realizes he thinks she's going to leave him. "I'm not leaving you here alone at night," she adds, "so you'll have to come with me. But you can sleep when we get there. Get dressed—I'll wait for you by the door."

"Where are we going?" he asks her, scrambling out of bed and toward the dresser as she closes the door for him. Suddenly he seems wide awake, and Felicity doesn't blame him. The excitement, however, concerns her; he shouldn't be this eager to run somewhere in the middle of the night—especially not to the Glades.

She's not quite sure how to answer that question, so she offers one of her own instead. "Remember how I said I had secrets?" she reminds him, not really needing an answer. "I'm going to show you one tonight. My friends need my help with their…" She trails off, not sure what to call it. "Night job."

Connor opens the door then, staring at her with wide eyes as she points to him. "But you have to promise not to tell _anyone_ about it. Because, if you do, a lot of bad things will happen to them, okay?" He nods once, slowly and firmly. Only then does she usher him forward. "Come on. We're going into a bad part of town, so I need you to stay with me."

They make it down to her car without incident, and she fastens his seatbelt before taking off into the Glades. Connor stares out the window with a growing frown, and Felicity regrets exposing him to this so young. Childhood is supposed to be happy, but she figures his was turned upside-down before she walked into his life.

"They need the Arrow," he declares after a long moment. "This was better when the Arrow protected it." He looks at her. "He hasn't helped the city this year. Arsenal and the two Canaries are cool, but it's not the same without the Arrow." She blinks twice at the casual mention of two Canaries; not even the police know about that—with the exception of one Quentin Lance. Apparently he's been paying attention.

"I know," Felicity answers quietly. And does she ever. "And it's harder now—the police stopped helping people here, so there's nothing but crime." Still, it's worse than it was two weeks ago, back when she was sitting at her computers in the lair every night. She swallows. "It was better then, too. But now there are just three people trying to keep this part of the town safe. That's not enough to stop this much crime."

When they finally pull into the half-trashed Verdant lot, she parks as close to the building as she can. "Don't open your door until I'm on the other side of the car," she warns him, and he does as she asks. He even slips his hand into hers as they walk into the deserted club, and she's never been more thankful for it. Somehow, it gives her the strength to go back down.

Once the door is locked behind them, Felicity turns to him. "You asked me if I knew the Arrow," she starts, working up to what she knows is going to be her hardest admission. Of course Connor's eyes latch onto her, staring through Felicity with an uncanny level of perception. "I did," she affirms for him as she starts entering the keycode for the lair. "I'd like to think I knew him better than anyone."

She sighs as the boy listens, still holding onto her hand like a lifeline. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to believe it, but he died, Connor. His sister was in trouble, and he did what he had to do to save her. He knew that he probably wasn't going to come back, but he didn't care because someone he loved was in danger. She'll probably never understand how much he sacrificed for her."

Felicity isn't sure if the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob or a laugh. "He didn't like being called a hero, but he was. He wasn't perfect. He made mistakes. He did horrible things—and he hated himself for them. But every choice he made after he returned to Starling was for the good of this city." She takes a breath, fighting back tears. "And it wasn't kind to him. They called him a monster, a murderer, a criminal, but still he went out every night to fight for it. And he never came back without an injury. Sometimes he could hardly walk, but he still came back here every night. We've nearly lost him so many times down here that I lost count. No matter how long it took him to recover, though, he _always_ came back to put on the hood because he couldn't stand the thought of living in this city for _one minute_ without trying to fix it."

The door flies open when she twists the knob. "But he's gone now, and we're all that's left."

Releasing his hand, Felicity charges down the stairs, suddenly feeling like she's in her element. This is her place, this is where everything makes sense—except for the green suit to her left that's been in its case for the last two and a half months. Sara is sitting on the gurney with a piece of suture, weaving it back and forth through the hole in her shoulder. Diggle leans against her desk with his head bowed, looking more weary than ever. It takes her a minute to find Roy, but then she sees him studying the wound in Laurel's arm, tongue sticking out from between his teeth in concentration. Tommy's eyes follow the scene from his place in Felicity's chair.

They all look up when she walks in, Connor following on her heels even as he stares at the green suit on display. Finally his eyes go to the team, accepting what he sees with just the barest hint of surprise. If they're surprised by Connor's presence, no one says a word. "Tell me where we're at," Felicity starts, surveying the scene. "And Merlyn, get out of my chair. I have work to do."

Tommy does as he asks with a smile on his face, stopping to kiss her cheek. "Glad to have you back, Smoaky," he says with a breath of relief. "I don't know how you deal with these guys yelling 'sit rep' in your ear every five minutes." He looks a little weary, too, if the circles under his eyes are anything to go by. "I'm not even sure I know what the hell a 'sit rep' is."

"Situation report," Felicity clarifies. "It means you're supposed to tell them where the rest of the team is—and any other GPS locators." She pats his shoulder. "And it's good to be back." She turns on her heel to face the other blonde in the room. "I'm glad you made it back to town, Sara—we miss you around here. How is Nyssa?"

The briefest moment of hesitation passes through her features, and then Felicity is gathered in the biggest hug she's ever received from a kickass, blonde vigilante. Her arms go around the other woman immediately in response. "Nyssa and I did everything we could, Felicity," she whispers to her. "But he confessed to it and Ra's wanted to make an example. I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

Felicity pulls away, staring at the other woman. "This wasn't your fault, Sara," she assures her. "I know the island gave you both some sort of mystical superpower for blaming yourself, but this mess isn't yours to apologize for. Malcolm did this to our team." She blows out a frustrated huff that's only partially for effect. "I kind of wish he was alive on paper so I could max out his credit cards, trash his credit, and insult the local Bratva in his name." She waves a hand. "I know he doesn't _use_ credit cards, but it's the principle of the thing."

Sara actually laughs, and Felicity has the feeling she doesn't do that often enough. It's a win. Then she leans around the IT expert to study Connor, who is staring at her with wide eyes and a look of pure awe. "Who's your shadow?" she asks with a smile, and, while her question is directed at Felicity, she seems to want Connor to answer.

For a moment, Felicity thinks he might be incapable of answering, but then he finally blurts, "You're one of the Canaries." He looks like, well, Felicity would say a kid in a candy store, but maybe more like a kid in a lair of the city's best heroes. "Will you sign my book?"

Sara, on the other hand, looks completely overwhelmed by the turn of events. Felicity understands; the assassin doesn't see herself as a hero, even though the rest of the city does. Determined to help her friend out, she only offers, "This is Connor." When the name means nothing, she releases a long-suffering sigh. "Can't you at least check your messages when you're gallivanting across the globe with your assassin girlfriend?" she demands. "He's Oliver's son. He's been with me for the past two weeks." Then she motions from Connor to Sara. "This is my friend. Most of the city knows her as the Black Canary, but to us, she's just Sara."

The blonde assassin offers him a timid smile, and Felicity thinks it's interesting how Sara—big, bad, kick-your-ass-with-a-stick Sara—always gets tongue-tied around children. "Ollie could have used this in his life." She turns to Felicity knowingly. "Someone who doesn't immediately see the worst in us."

Perceptive eight-year-old that he is, Connor picks right up on it. "You knew my dad," he decides, and there isn't a question in his tone. He's confident and assured, and the confirmation of his statement would really just be a formality. Felicity has seen this time and time again over the last few weeks; when Connor decides something, there isn't a force in the world powerful enough to make him doubt himself.

Though she didn't think it was possible, she's finally met someone more stubborn than Oliver.

Deciding that there's no reason to shelter him from the truth, Felicity takes a deep breath. Connor Hawke has faced much more challenging trials without breaking. "Oliver is the one who started this team," Felicity tells him quietly. "None of us would be here if he hadn't been a part of our lives." Biting her lip to keep the tears back again, she continues, "He and Sara kept each other alive in a nightmare for a year. He saved John's life." She laughs at the memory that assaults her. "He broke into my office to fix a computer and made the mistake of sitting in my chair. Then he brought a court case to Laurel and saved Tommy's dad from being poisoned.

Though it might kill her, she needs to. With measured steps, she walks over to the glass case holding that green suit and presses her hand against it. And then she longs to see him in it again, but some things can never happen again. "And this was his." She fights back the words at the tip of her tongue, the ones that mean so much and are never quite enough—because they have to be past tense now, and that's completely unacceptable. Still, she says them in her head.

 _And he was mine._

Connor can do little more than just stare at her for a moment, walking up to the case in awe. She knows it will take him time to process, and Felicity understands; she processed her way through a pint of mint chip when she realized the truth. So instead of pressing him, she turns back to Roy and Laurel. "You have to be brave," she states after a long moment, "if you're letting _him_ patch you up. He couldn't stitch a straight line to save his life." She places her hand on Roy's shoulder. "Let me."

Laurel seems genuinely surprised by the turn of events as Roy moves away, and it reminds Felicity just how new she is to life in the lair. "You have medical training?" she asks, her head tilting to the side. Then recognition flickers across her features. "That night at the house, when Oliver"—she hesitates over the name—"and Sara fought that assassin. You stitched up the cut on his forehead."

Felicity nods as she winds the suture around her fingers, the action a familiar friend in an otherwise new territory; it feels wrong to be using suture to patch up someone when Oliver isn't there. Still, the memory brings a smile to her lips. "He kept groaning over it for effect," she remembers with a laugh. "It took everything I had not to laugh—I've stitched him up on that table many nights without anesthesia. He never even flinched."

Before Laurel can ask, Roy pipes up from where he's leaning against the counter. "He said that he and pain came to an understanding a long time ago," he notes. Then something like nostalgia runs across his features. "That was the night you saved me from the Savior. You stitched me up that night." A soft laugh leaves him. "And he wasn't happy about it, either."

That draws Laurel's attention away from the wound that Felicity is weaving through her arm. "Oliver didn't teach you how to do this?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice. At least it's taken her mind off of the thread weaving through her anesthetized arm.

Everyone in the room chuckles at the question. "Of course not," Felicity answers. "Do you remember how much of a fight he gave you when you talked about becoming the other half of the Black Canary?" Laurel's expression darkens, which is more than enough of an answer. "Before Sara agreed to train you, he thought you weren't prepared, and he wanted you as far from the action as possible."

She rolls her shoulder, adjusting better to the angle. "I was supposed to stay in the lair because I don't know how to fight. But then he was shot—bullet went through his carotid artery." She points to the gurney where Sara is sitting. "Diggle patched him up on that table, and he taught me a thing or two so I could help." A laugh bubbles out of her as a memory comes up. "Every time I went out in the field, he was furious."

Diggle snorts in the background. "That's because the first time we tried it, you ended up with a bomb collar around your neck," he interjects, the look on his face turning into a grim line. "You didn't see him after I found you, Felicity. He was _scared_. I thought he was going to take off after the Dodger." He shakes his head before adding more seriously to Roy and Laurel, "Oliver was a different man back then. I didn't know what he'd do to him." She can feel his eyes land on her from across the room. "Taking you with him was probably the best choice he could have made that night."

Suddenly the air is a little too thick in the room, and Felicity is choking on it. That night was _the_ night, the one where everything changed. That was when they finally made that leap between their awkward flirting and finally managing to do something about it. He'd kissed her that night, doing the very thing he'd been avoiding for so long, and it had been one of the best moments of her life. She'd never thought it would hurt, but today, the pain of that moment is excruciating.

But she doesn't have the luxury of falling to pieces. Not now. She bites down on her lip to keep the unwanted emotion from overflowing, focusing instead on knotting the end of the suture. "That should hold," Felicity says finally in a quiet tone. "If it tears out, though, let me know."

She's barely finished when a very small hand weaves through hers—whether because he needs it or she does, the blonde will never know. Connor offers her part of a smile as the words come out in something that sounds like amazement. "My dad was the Arrow," he breathes. There's a touch of sadness in his eyes, but a smile on his face. Felicity understands that feeling completely. "And you helped him save the city."

He doesn't need the confirmation of that, but she gives it to him anyway. "He was," she agrees anyway, mostly for her own reasons. Then she squeezes his hand. "I set up his computers and watched over him from this station for a year and a half." Another sad laugh leaves her. "Before that, he came to me with odd jobs for several months."

She opens her mouth to say more, but suddenly the phone on the desk starts ringing. At first Felicity thinks it might be hers, but then she realizes it's the Arrow phone—the one that's been silent for the last two and a half months. Everyone looks to her for a course of action, and she's more than willing to take up the charge, especially when she sees Lance's name on the ID. Give her Lance over her own ghosts any day.

"Captain Lance," she answers, after being sure to turn off the modulation feature. It's not like it matters; Lance already knows who she is. A report flashes upon the screen, and she snaps her fingers at Roy to get his attention before pointing to it. His mask and hood are back in place immediately, and he regrips his bow before charging up the stairs. Sara is right on his heels the entire time. "What can I do for you?"

"You answering his calls now?" Lance replies immediately. When she doesn't answer, he continues conversationally, "Your hood squad has been awfully busy over the past few weeks. Haven't seen a green hood in a while, though." He hesitates then. "He decide to take a vacation?"

Felicity isn't even remotely close to being in the mood for this conversation. "We don't call ourselves that," she informs him flatly. "I call it 'Team Arrow,' but it's not a unanimous word choice." Even now, she half expects Oliver to show up in time to tell her that they don't call it that. Beaten, shot, stabbed—if he had breath in his body, he would grumble some sort of correction to the term. And she does _not_ need to follow that particular rabbit hole at the moment.

Shaking her head to clear it, Felicity continues, "But I'm going to level with you, Captain: it's three in the morning, I haven't had a full night's sleep in six weeks, and I'm trying to balance two very demanding lives—one of which involves watching _my_ team fight a war with no police to back them up. I don't really feel like chatting right now." She pauses. "So I'll repeat: what can I do for you?"

He releases a crackling sigh over the line, as though _she's_ the one testing _his_ patience. "I have a file worked up on Brickwell—all the evidence and reports we have for him," he answers after a long moment. "I know I can't help you on the record, but I can give you all I can to fight this thing. I figure I owe you that much for getting you into this mess."

Felicity sighs, realizing that she shouldn't be taking out her irritation on Lance. Still, it feels infinitely better than being sad all the time. She intends to send Laurel for it, only to realize that she and Diggle are suiting up for another call-out on the scanner. "I'll have Arsenal pick it up as soon as he's finished." The note is more for their information than Lance's, but it's always good for Lance to have a name.

"I'll be here," he assures her. Then there's a pause where he adds before hanging up, "Just be careful out there, kiddo."

Felicity frowns at the phone for a moment, but she doesn't have time to think about it before Connor is over her shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asks her, pointing to one of the screens. "What does this do?" Before she can answer either question, he's crawling into her lap. She adjusts him so that she can see over his head and can type around him. It's somewhat awkward, but it's also nice to to feel alone.

"They protect this city," Felicity explains simply, "but it's my job to protect _them_."

* * *

While she wasn't sure what kind of reaction she'd get from Connor after the revelation about Oliver being the Arrow, now Felicity thinks it might have been the best thing she ever did. Before, he barely listened to her, typically ending in dismissing her suggestions. (It had been a challenge, but she figured that it would get better—and it did, to some degree.) But he would at least listen to her, and she took that as progress. Before she told him about the Arrow, he had respected her, but now it's something more.

Now, he _trusts_ her.

That's the only explanation she has for the way he latches onto her hand as they walk into the records office together. He did that for the first time the night they went into the Glades, but now it's a common occurrence, and she's not sure if it's meant to be comfort for him or her. Maybe it's for both of them. Either way, it signals a change between them—one that she thinks is for the better.

She takes a seat near the door to wait for the next available person to assist her, but Connor still doesn't drop her hand, looking lost in his own thoughts. Felicity has known he's had something on his mind all morning, but she's attributed it to this last change in paperwork for her to become his legal guardian. But, because he's so much like Oliver, the blonde also knows that Connor will tell her when he's ready to talk about it.

Then he takes a deep breath, and Felicity braces herself for the charge that is about to come. "Are you okay, Felicity?" he asks her suddenly, throwing her completely. The concern and worry on his face looks wrong for an eight-year-old. As if to explain his inquiry, he adds quietly, "You woke me up last night because you were yelling." She takes a shaky breath. The nightmares were back again. "I went to check on you, and you were _crying_." He puts so much weight on that word, as though it terrifies him. "You don't cry. You want to sometimes, but you don't."

"Of course I cry," she assures him gently. "Everybody cries." Because he doesn't seem convinced, she adds, "I had a nightmare, Connor." He looks skeptical, and she laughs at the expression on his face. "Growing up doesn't mean that you stop having nightmares. It just means that they change from monsters in the closet to much more realistic things." She squeezes his hand. "Sometimes I have nightmares about Oliver dying. It's nothing to worry about, okay?"

Already she can tell that explanation isn't going to fly, and she sighs deeply because she _so_ doesn't want to get into this with him. Maybe one day, but not now when they're both dealing with so much pain. But of course Connor won't let this go—not now that he's latched onto something that bothers him. "Felicity," he asks slowly, "are you my stepmom?"

The question surprises her so much that her mouth opens but no words come out. "Some of the kids at school had stepmoms," he continues. "I asked my mom about it one time, and she said that sometimes moms and dads didn't always go together. Sometimes they'd love a different man or woman than they did before. And when that happened, that would be their stepmom—or stepdad."

Then he looks at her with uncanny perception. "Everybody is sad when they talk about Oliver, but not like you. You're _always_ sad, but it's just worse when you talk about him. And nobody talks about him until you do, like they're trying not to make you even more sad than you are." He looks at her. "And sometimes you get so sad when you talk about him that you start talking about something else instead." He looks at her, asking the one question that can never go unanswered: "Felicity, did you love my dad?"

The words come out of her mouth unbidden because this is the one thing she can never leave hanging. "I did," she assures him with more conviction than she's been able to muster in the last three months. "I loved him _so_ much." Somehow she manages not to choke on the words. "We had been together for almost two years." She shakes her head then. "But I'm not your stepmom—we would have to be married for that." With surprise, she notices that his face falls a little in something like disappointment. "Remember the rings you asked me about? That's what they were for. That's why I don't wear them—they make me sad."

He thinks about that for a moment. "Do _I_ make you sad?" he asks her. He looks so serious about the question that Felicity wants to slap herself; the two things that keep her going are Connor and the mission—in that order—and she's an idiot for letting him think otherwise. "Because I don't want to make you sad, Felicity. If you would be happy if I left—"

She doesn't let that thought continue. "Connor, you are the only thing in my life that makes me happy right now," she assures him, and it brings a lopsided smile to his face. "The only reason I'll ever seem sad around you is because sometimes you remind me of Oliver— _so much_. That makes me remember he's gone, but it also feels like part of him is still here. It makes me happy and sad at the same time." She squeezes his hand again. "The sad part only happens sometimes, but you make me happy _all_ the time."

Connor seems satisfied with that answer, nodding once as he thinks it over. The tone of the conversation distracts her so much that she doesn't realize she recognizes the cop at one of the counters until he's already standing in front of her, cup of coffee in hand. "Felicity," he greets her with a nod, his eyes flicking over to Connor every now and again. Finally he addresses it. "Who's your friend here?"

"Connor," she introduces slowly, "this is Captain Lance. He's Laurel and Sara's dad, but he's also a friend in the police." The recognition flickers so fast that she's impressed; of course he recognizes the name from the past few nights down in the lair. "Captain, this is Connor Hawke. He's staying with me for a while."

"It's really nice to meet you, sir," Connor says sincerely, sticking out his hand. Felicity isn't sure if Lance can see the family resemblance there, but _she_ sure as hell can. She's watched Oliver make that same expression when talking to Lance on any number of occasions.

His eyes narrow slightly, but otherwise the captain doesn't seem to place the familiarity. Instead he shakes the hand offered to him. "Nice to meet you, too, kid," he answers distractedly. Then he turns back to Felicity. "Think I could have a minute with your friend, Connor?"

Felicity gets the message, so she digs in her purse for some spare change, counting out two dollars in quarters. "I saw you eyeing that vending machine in the hallway," she says to Connor with a knowing smile. "Why don't you go see what you can get?" His eyes flick between her and Lance as he hesitates, and the blonde understands that he doesn't want to miss anything about Arrow business. With a smile, she assures him she'll tell him about it later with a coded message of, "I promise you won't miss anything."

Picking up on the code immediately, he takes the change with a toothy smile, revealing a missing baby tooth in his grin. She hasn't seen him smile like that since he's been with her, other than when he plays with Saphira. He takes the coins with a smile before running off to the machine in the corner. "Thank you, Felicity!" Connor calls over his shoulder.

She keeps her eyes on him from across the room, even as she talks to Lance. "I'm sorry for snapping at you the other night," she states as Lance drops down next to her. "It's been a really tough few months, and I'm apparently not as capable of handling change as I thought."

"It's okay, kiddo," he offers easily, seeming _way_ too calm about the whole situation.

Felicity's intuition kicks in immediately. "Which one of your daughters told you to be nice to me?" she demands, sinking back into the lumpy sofa. "Because the problems that I'm trying to work out right now do _not_ give me a license to be a jerk. And they certainly shouldn't be a reason for you to take it easy on me."

Lance shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "It was both of them, actually," he answers too casually. "And Harper, too, when he came to pick up those papers." Honestly, Felicity isn't even surprised that Lance figured out his identity; she's more surprised that he never figured out the Arrow's. "Never thought it was possible, but the kid has a soft spot for you—he told me you've been having a rough year." Then his expression hardens a little. "Does it have something to do with the kid?"

The question throws her. "Connor?" she asks, incredulous. "No, he's absolutely wonderful." She sighs. "His mother was his only living relative, and she was in a car accident in Central City. Barry told me about the story, and I wanted to help." She laughs. "Honestly, he's the only thing that is making things better." She nods at the line in front of her. "That's why I'm here—I'm filing another round of paperwork so that I can be his foster parent." She tilts her head to the side. "And I'm repaying a little kindness from Mrs. Nagorski while I'm at it."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "You sure that's a good idea? I understand where you're heart's at, but your bringing him into your world. Let's face it—your night job is no place for a kid. He could get hurt." Then he hesitates, and already Felicity knows the question about to be thrown at her. "Speaking of, no one's seen the Arrow since December, after he took out that armored truck being used to transport guns into the Glades. Someone said he got hurt pretty bad."

It had been minor, but it still surprises her how accurate his train of thought is. "The Arrow is dead," Felicity tells him flatly, and then she decides that ripping it off like a bandage doesn't make it hurt any less. "There was a family matter with extenuating circumstances." She swallows hard. "We couldn't even recover the body, much less throw a funeral."

His expression doesn't change much, but he does reach out to awkwardly pat Felicity's shoulder. "I know you two were close. I'm sorry, Felicity," he responds slowly. "I didn't know the guy that well and he kept his emotions close to the vest, but I think he loved you." He isn't trying to, of course, but somehow Lance manages to twist the knife in deeper with the best intentions. "And I think he'd appreciate what you're doing here with _him_ ," he adds with a nod toward Connor.

Felicity's stomach drops at the statement, and for a moment, she isn't sure where he's going with it. "I don't know what you mean, Captain," she answers carefully. "I just wanted to help a very sad little boy from being thrown into the system. Most of us were tougher than him, and it still screwed us up. He didn't deserve that kind of life." She shakes her head. "You have no idea what that can do to a kid."

"But _you_ do," Lance retorts immediately, his focus on Connor now, who is still happily shoving coins into the machine. "That's his kid, isn't it?" he asks with a perception that's too much and too little at the same time. For a moment she can't do anything more than gape at him, and he shrugs self-consciously at the attention. "Come on, kid, you're not that hard to figure out. You've never really seemed interested in kids, and all the sudden you're fostering one?" He shakes his head. "And you two seem close, so there has to be something linking you. Then you tell me the Arrow dies on a family matter. Only makes sense."

This time his hesitation fills the room before he speaks. "I just hope this thing isn't causing problems with your boyfriend—Merlyn said he decided to take a vacation or something." Then, with a touch of bitterness, he adds, "You wouldn't be the first woman to learn the hard way that he runs from anything resembling commitment."

Part of Felicity rises up to defend Oliver, but then she realizes that the timing isn't right yet. "It's been difficult for Oliver ever since Queen Consolidated was bought out by Palmer Tech," she explains, leading into the cover story Oliver had told Thea. "He wanted to get away from the city for a while." She hesitates, tacking on a new part. "He asked me to go with him, but… my work is here. The team needs me, now more than ever."

"I think this city needs you, too," he answers after a long moment. Then slowly he rises to his feet. "I better take off before someone misses me at work." Then, very seriously, he adds, "Take care of yourself, kiddo. And if your team needs anything, let me know. You seem to be the only ones trying to help this city right now—least I can do is help you." He doesn't wait for a response before walking away, just as Connor comes tottering back, proud of the purchases in his hands.

He's quiet until they're walking out of the records department together, all paperwork finalized and behind them now. It isn't until he's buckled into his seat in the car that he seems to finally gather his thoughts, rolling something around in his hand as he does so. "Felicity?" he says carefully, and the tone to his voice alone is enough to draw her away from her own thoughts. She hums a response, meeting his eyes.

Instead of speaking, Connor reaches over and takes her hand, turning it so her palm is facing upward before dropping something into it. He doesn't offer an explanation, and Felicity stares at the item in confusion. The ring has to be one of his prizes from the vending machine. The stone is a large plastic, purple oval, set into a cheap, adjustable copper band. Curious, she holds it up. "What is this for?" she asks, confused by the sudden change of events.

With a self-conscious shrug, he answers, "You said that my dad would have to give you a ring before you became my stepmom." He looks at her as though it's the simplest and most obvious thing in the world, while also looking very proud for having worked this out on his own. "Since he's not here, I wanted to ask you instead." Trepidation suddenly crosses his features. "You're nice and all, but I can't call you 'Mom.' I already have one of those, even if she isn't here. But you _can_ be my Felicity, and I can stay with you until I grow up." Suddenly he looks awkward. "If you want to, I mean. You don't have to."

The ring is too small for any other finger, so she adjusts it and slides it onto her pinky. She can tell he's trying not to make a big deal about this, so Felicity bites back the smile, even as her heart melts a little at the sentiment. "I think I can live with that," she answers after pretending to think about it a little. Honestly, she thinks it would freak her out a little if he started calling her his mother. "And I would absolutely love to be your stepmom."

"Really?" he breathes, and he's so surprised and excited at once that Felicity can't bite back the laugh this time. Connor looks a little upset by that, so when she assures him again that she'd love nothing more, she leans over to punctuate it with a kiss to his cheek.

He smiles as his face heats, suddenly finding something interesting in the book she bought him last week.

* * *

They're in the middle of what she's been thinking of as the Glades Revolution when she hears it, and it takes her breath away a little. She can't be there because of Connor, instead camped out with her laptop in Laurel and Tommy's apartment, far away from the center of the Glades where the battle is to take place.

With the Bluetooth headset over her ear and a satellite retasked for the purpose, she has eyes and ears on the fight against Danny Brickwell, but so far it hasn't looked too pretty—even if her side _is_ winning. In fact, if Connor had been any other kid in the world, she would have told him to go to bed so he wouldn't have to watch the violence over her shoulder, but Connor hasn't been young or impressionable for a very long time.

But still, the word that leaves Roy's mouth and crackles through the comm link in his surprise isn't something she immediately believes. "Oliver," he states in surprise, and a second later, she watches on the lagging satellite feed as an arrow blossoms through the man who was attempting to attack him from behind.

Not sure if she can believe it or not, Felicity zooms in through the feed, lightening it a little before she realizes that it is, in fact, a very green arrow sticking out of the man's arm. For a moment, she thinks they're all part of a mass hallucination, but then Connor snaps her out of it by shaking her arm. "Felicity?" he asks her quietly. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know yet," she answers truthfully. Instead, she tries to zoom out, tries to get a better look. He can't have been far if that _is_ Oliver. Hope feels almost cruel at this point, but she _has_ to know. The first hood she lands on is Malcolm's, and she can't resist spitting out, "I hope they get you—it would be one less problem to worry about."

"Smoaky, as much as I'd like to agree with you," Tommy cuts in from his place in the van, "could you stop cursing my father for five minutes and tell me what's going on? I thought I heard Roy say Oliver's name."

"I'm trying, Merlyn," she snaps at him, her panic coming out as frustration. "I found a green arrow in one of the guys. If, by some miracle, he's here, he's sticking to the rooftops. I'm having to scan to—" She breaks off as she focuses on the still, her voice breaking off into something between a sob and a shaky breath of relief. That's definitely the green hood that's been sitting in the lair for a three months without use, but she's still a little afraid to believe it. When she gets a shot of his face, however, she quickly changes her mind. There's no question when she sees the set of that jaw or the eyes that peek out from under the mask.

Oliver has come home.

"It's him," she breathes, having trouble believing it herself. "Guys, I have a visual on him, and it's Oliver." Then she watches him take a step on the screen, and she frowns. "He's limping and guarding his ribs, but he's alive." The Arrow is back in Starling City, and suddenly it feels like Felicity's life has been turned rightside-up again, as though everything from before finally makes sense again.

As she watches, slowly the fight begins to fade away, and Connor pushes his way into her lap as the Arrow drops down from the rooftops onto one of the trucks. Standing there, he addresses the people of Starling City for the first time since he started this, and Felicity can't help but feel more than a little proud of what he's turned the Arrow into. Once the city feared him as a cold-blooded killer, but now the citizens watch him as though he's their hero. Because he _is_ a hero—even if he wasn't the hero of this particular story.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here when you needed me most," he says to them through his modulator, ignoring the swarming group of journalists and the police starting to arrive. Felicity knows how much he must hate this, even though he knows he should do it; he's never been fond of having the public eye. "I'm sorry for what this city had to endure in my absence." He hesitates. "But I'm not sorry about what I saw upon my return."

He regrips the bow in his hand, fidgeting slightly before continuing, "I left a city that was in fear of its enemies. A city incapable of fighting for itself. But the city I see before me is not the same— _you_ are not the same. But today, I came home to find a city who _did_ endure it, only to grow stronger in the face of their newest struggle. And you fought to reclaim your city from that struggle—and you succeeded because you knew what you were fighting for." There's a short pause before he yells out to them in something akin to a rally cry, "Citizens of the Glades, you did _not_ fail this city!"

The crowd gathered around him bursts into cheers as he fires an arrow out of the satellite's view, swinging off into the night in a rather dramatic exit. Something in Felicity swells, and the pride hits her harder than anything. She knows he has to be a wreck after whatever happened with Ra's. She knows he's hurting, that he could barely manage to stay upright. But that didn't matter because he was still _there_ , still decided to fight for his city before everything else.

"That's him?" Connor asks her, staring at her with wide eyes. "The Arrow is back?" He looks as though Christmas came early and he just found everything he wanted under the tree. When she nods, he looks a little overwhelmed by emotion—a feeling that seems to be going around, if you ask Felicity. Finally he manages to breathe, "That is so _cool_."

After closing the laptop, Felicity ushers him off her lap. "Get your coat, and you can meet him."

* * *

For absolutely no reason, Felicity freezes in the dark corner of the lair with Connor trailing on the steps behind her. It feels both odd and right to find Oliver standing in the basement, the hood down and the mask and bow lying across one of the tables. Tommy is in tears as he hugs his best friend, but Oliver seems to be taking it in stride. "I thought you were dead," Tommy half-sobs at him before adding, "you asshole."

A soft snicker leaves Oliver as he drops a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "I've been dead before," he reminds him in a dry voice. "But I always come back." He sounds weary, but the humor coming out of his mouth is a good sign for Felicity. He wouldn't be cracking jokes if the situation was dire.

Sara wraps her arms around him next, with no qualms or hesitation whatsoever. "The second time is the easiest," she tells him with a partial grin. "I think coming back from the dead gets better after a while. Let's hope neither of us have to put that theory to the test again." She kisses his cheek with a level of fondness that comes from mutual survival before pulling away.

"I guess we should just be glad it didn't take five years this time," Laurel cuts in, pulling him in for a shorter hug than Tommy's—and more respectful to personal boundaries than Sara's. "Glad to have you back, Ollie." Like the rest of the team, Laurel seems to be riding a high following their latest success. Because not only is Brickwell down and law and order restored to the Glades, but the missing piece of their team—who has been gone for over _three months_ —is back.

"I'm not," Roy cuts in, but there's a smile playing on his face. "No one kicked my ass on the mats in the past three months. It was kind of nice." He shrugs. "But defending this city without you kind of sucked, so I guess we'll let you come back."

Diggle cuts in before Oliver can respond. "Hell of a speech, too, man," he adds before shaking Oliver's hand. The archer, however, isn't having that; he pulls his friend in for a one-armed hug. "Welcome back." Then part of a smile lights up his face. "The place just isn't the same without you growling over Felicity's shoulder."

She can't see Oliver's face because he's turned away from her, but suddenly the set of his shoulders changes at the mere mention of her name. "Where is she?" he asks to no one and everyone at once, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. It's as if he's afraid to ask, as if there's a reason she hasn't been in his arms yet. (There is, of course, but it's probably not as bad as he's thinking.)

Roy and Tommy point behind him at the same time Digg answers, "Your seven o'clock."

He turns slowly, and a completely ridiculous grin stretches across his face that makes Felicity's heart hurt because she _missed_ this with every fiber of her being. He seems to be suffering from the same loss of words that she does, and finally he offers a quiet, tentative, "Hey."

The word snaps her into action. "Oh _no_ ," she snaps, heels clicking across the floor as she stomps toward him. Oliver winces immediately, and she wonders for a moment how the hell this man survived a swordfight with one of the most powerful men on the planet to be terrified of _her_. "You did _not_ come back from three months of making me think you were dead with a 'hey.' That is _not_ happening." He stutters out part of an incoherent answer before she reaches him, but it ends when she pulls him into a hug so tight that she knocks the breath out of him in a soft huff.

His arms are around her immediately, pulling her in tight while she tries not to cry into the fabric of his jacket—and mostly fails. They stay like that for a long moment before he decides that a hug just isn't enough, pulling back to claim her mouth with his. Maybe they do that far longer than is appropriate, but well, Felicity hasn't been able to do that in a few months and so maybe she savors the moment. She's not going to apologize for that.

A familiar tugging on the hem of her skirt gets her attention and, reluctantly, she breaks away from Oliver to look down at her other favorite Queen. "You said I get to meet him," Connor reminds her in a quiet voice, staring up at the man in the green hood even as he does so. Felicity can only imagine how he must be feeling right now: scared, excited, in awe, and maybe a little hesitant all at once.

For the first time, Felicity hesitates. There is so much they need to address first, before she just throws this information at Oliver, since she knows he won't respond well to this in the beginning. The blonde bends down to whisper to him, "Remember how scared you were when you met me?" The boy only nods, his blue eyes wide. "He's going to be scared, too. Would you give me ten minutes to explain everything to him? I _promise_ I'll introduce you then."

Connor is already nodding by the time she pulls away to look at him, his eyes flicking toward the stairs. Only then does she realize that everyone has cleared out of the room to give them their moment. "I'll go see if I can bring Aunt Laurel some Band-Aids," he offers. "She said her arm hurts from where Roy stitched it."

Both the sentiment and his name for Laurel make her smile. Apparently he likes the idea of their extended, mismatched family after only having his mother as a relative; most of the time, he refers to them as "Aunt Laurel," "Uncle Tommy," "Aunt Sara," and "Uncle John." (Roy, however, still remains to be "Roy," but at least now his name isn't accompanied by an eye roll every time.) "That's a good idea," she agrees with him. "Thank you."

She watches Oliver instead of Connor as the boy leaves, watching as his eyes follow his son's path up the stairs and into the closed club before coming back to her. The smile is still on his face, but there's new confusion in his eyes. He doesn't ask her, though, because he doesn't have to; they both know she's about to explain. Instead, he only hedges, "He seems like a good kid."

The smile reaches her lips without permission. "He is," she assures him before turning grave. "You might want to sit down for this one, Oliver," Felicity warns him, motioning to her chair. He doesn't sit, but the smile falls off his face as he crosses his arms, and she sighs. _One_ stubborn Queen man she can handle, but she has a feeling the presence of _two_ in her life is going to take some adjustment. "Connor is eight. He's been staying with me for the past two months," she admits slowly. Oliver opens his mouth to ask, but she holds a hand up. "His mother was killed in a car accident, and Barry called me after running DNA." She takes in a breath, knowing this is the worst possible time to confront him with this, but the only time she has. "His mother was Sandra Hawke."

Though Felicity could probably continue to spell it out for him, she can tell the moment it clicks, watching as he runs his hands over his face, turning away from her for a moment. In the next breath, he faces her, holding out a hand. "Felicity, I _swear_ to you I had no idea," Oliver assures her, though she came to that conclusion two months ago. "Sandra told me she was pregnant, but that she miscarried. If I thought for a minute that—"

Though she isn't unfamiliar with his tendency toward self-flagellation, that doesn't mean she's going to allow him to do it now. "I know," she assures him quietly, cutting through his statement. He seems amazed that she means it, and she can't help but roll her eyes at him. "Oh, come on, Oliver," Felicity insists. "I've known you longer than that. I know that if you had any idea about Connor, there would be absolutely nothing stopping you from fitting Arrow business around every single baseball game. You would have been the best father you knew how to be."

Something about her metaphor makes him smile, albeit a little hesitantly. "I was more concerned that you thought I had kept it from you," he admits in a quiet voice. It should probably concern Felicity that the thought never even occurred to her, but, then again, they share his somewhat-illegal crusade to save the city together. If he could share that secret with her, this one couldn't have seemed daunting by comparison. People all over the world have children from previous relationships, but crusades fought to save a city are another thing entirely. Before she can process that, he looks at her in pure wonder. "You took care of him all this time." He shakes his head. "You thought I was dead—you didn't have to—"

"Of course I did," Felicity cuts him off with vehemence. "I thought I said this enough to beat it into your thick head, but apparently not: _I love you_. So when Barry called me about Connor, I took the red-eye to Central City that night because I thought you were gone and that he wouldn't have anyone. I didn't want to force him to live with me, but I also wanted to do everything I could because half of him is _you_ , Oliver." He offers her a soft smile, and she adds, "There may not be a ring on my finger"—that's a loaded statement, now more than ever—"but as far as I'm concerned, we're in this for the long haul." A wild look—like a cornered animal—crosses his face, so she rushes on, "More importantly, he's dying to meet you."

Suddenly the terror on his face transforms into a different variety of fear. "Felicity, I don't know what to say—" he starts slowly, but she doesn't let him finish.

"You two will do fine together," she assures him. "Connor is an amazing kid, Oliver. There's a reason I brought him down here—he's been through a lot and he can take it. He's a smart kid and he already thinks you're amazing because you're the Arrow. As long as you don't try to lie to him or coddle him, you'll be fine." Then Felicity smiles in reassurance. "And I'll be here to help you, okay?" He nods once, though he doesn't look very certain of it. "But for now… How did you survive? Not that I'm not thrilled about it, but Malcolm… he found a sword. There was blood on it to the hilt and—"

"It was mine," Oliver finishes, confirming what she discovered when she ran it through the police databases. In explanation, he unzips his jacket and places it on the gurney. Then he pulls up the black shirt underneath with a wince, showing her the puckered red line in his abdomen, the stitches oozing slightly from tonight's abuse. She thinks that's the worst of it, but then he turns around to show her another one on his back, and the implications of that make her blood run cold.

"When he threw me off that cliff," he starts slowly, "I thought I was going to die. I thought I did for a while, but then I woke up." He hesitates. "A friend of mine from the time I was away is in the League now. He saved me, brought me to his wife." His eyebrows narrow together. "There was a spring there that some of the locals thought had healing powers. They said that it used to be more powerful, but Ra's did… _something_ to it to weaken it. I lived, but I don't know how."

As he pulls down his shirt, Felicity can't help wrapping her arms around him again. "I don't think it matters," she tells him truthfully. "You're here and you lived, Oliver. That's all that matters to me." She sighs, a warm, happy sound. "I've missed being able to do that."

"Me, too," he breathes into her shoulder. He pulls back long enough to kiss her temple before resting his head on hers.

They must stay like that for a while because the next thing she's aware of is footsteps on the stairs. Connor covers his eyes as he leaves the stairs, wrinkling his nose. "It's been ten minutes," he reminds Felicity. "Are you two gonna kiss again? Because that was kind of gross."

"No kissing," Felicity assures him with a smile, still close enough to feel Oliver's silent laugh. She pushes away from her partner—not just in the vigilante business, but in life—to go to the eight-year-old, reaching for his hand. He places his in hers without a moment of hesitation. "Oliver," she says with a smile, "this is Connor, my newest roommate." Both boys smile at her description, but that's honestly how she thinks of him; he isn't her child and she doesn't really mother him, and he doesn't want her to, anyway. "Connor, this is Oliver Queen." She smiles down at him. "He's a lot of things, but most importantly, he's your dad."

Neither one makes a move, and she squeezes Connor's hand before admitting in a stage-whisper, "You'll probably have to make the first move. I know he looks tough, but he's a little scared right now."

Connor takes a few steps forward, dropping Felicity's hand as he tilts his head to the side. "Why are you scared?" he asks, with the insistent, pure curiosity that only a child can manage. "Felicity says you get hurt and jump off buildings. That's scarier than me."

Taking a slow breath, Oliver answers with sincerity, "I have no idea how to be a dad." He shifts a little under Connor's piercing gaze, and Felicity has to bite her lip from telling him this is usually how people feel when he throws them _his_ hawk-like intensity. "My dad should have been an example, but… I'm not sure that's the best example of what I want to be. And I want to be a good one because you deserve that."

As always, the eight-year-old is quiet as he absorbs that, nodding several times. A few moments later, he finally states, "I don't know what it's like to have a father, either." He shrugs. "But we can figure that out together." He tilts his head to the side. "I don't think I can call you 'Dad' yet, though."

"I don't think I'm ready for that, either," Oliver admits. "And I think I need to earn that title." He sits down in Felicity's computer chair, looking more weary than before. Felicity smiles at him in encouragement, and it seems to give him the strength to ask, "Has Felicity been taking good care of you?"

"Felicity is awesome," Connor says immediately, a smile coming to his face. It makes Felicity melt a little; she has no idea what she's doing, either, especially because Connor isn't hers and has no interest in her as a maternal figure. Then he frowns a little. "I mean, she won't let me have ice cream if I don't eat my vegetables and I can't come here if I don't go to bed by nine, but she helps me with math and lets me watch really cool cartoons." He nods once to himself, as if deciding that's a fair statement about his caretaker before adding, "She's a good stepmom."

The look on Oliver's face would be comical under different circumstances, but not when he looks so ready to run again. Before Felicity can jump in to explain, Connor continues, "I asked her if she was my stepmom, and she said no. So I asked her if she would be." He shrugs again, this time in a self-conscious gesture. "She said she would adopt me if I wanted, so I adopted her, too." He points at Oliver. "You can even stay with us, if you want, but I'm not giving up my room. Felicity had all my stuff sent from Central City."

One of those muted smiles graces Oliver's face, as if he's trying to stop himself from smiling. "You won't have to give up your room," he assures Connor. "And I thought I would stay with Felicity, but I thought I'd make sure it was okay with you first." He motions to the lair. "Felicity said you like it down here."

Connor genuinely lights up at that. "This is the best place in the entire world," he declares. "Sometimes it's scary, too—like when Aunt Sara got shot—but you guys are _heroes_." He says it with so much weight that Oliver doesn't flinch at the word this time. His eyes light up, and then questions start pouring out. "Why do you use a bow? Where did you learn how to shoot one? Will you teach me how to use a bow, too? How did you—"

Because Felicity knows this won't end without someone to stop it, she jumps in because Oliver seems a little overwhelmed. "Connor, I think Oliver has been through a lot tonight, and I'll probably have to fix a few of his stitches." She points to his notebook on the desk. "But if you write down your questions, I bet you can convince him to answer them later."

He nods a few times before rushing over for his notebook, and Felicity smiles at his antics. But before Connor goes for his notebook, he makes a detour for Oliver. "I really liked what you said tonight," he says, mulling over it a little. "Felicity told me that this city doesn't always like you, but they should." Then an amazing moment happens: Connor crawls into Oliver's lap to throw his arms around the vigilante's neck. Oliver himself looks a little stunned, but his arms slowly close around his son. "You saved them tonight. They might not say thank you, but I will for them. Thank you."

And just as quickly as it began, it passes, Connor tottering off after his notebook and leaving a smiling Oliver in his wake.


End file.
